


we'll meet again

by chryysaskk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1940s, Aziraphale needs reassurement, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Historical, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Slow Dancing, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Switching between Past and Present, World War II, actually half of this fic is a flashback, i heard to we'll meet again by vera lynn before this and it ended me, so please listen to it for a better acoustic result
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22391443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chryysaskk/pseuds/chryysaskk
Summary: "I don't think I would ever stand losing you, you know." His words came out in a single breath as if he was scared to utter them in the first place. Well, he was, as a matter of fact. He didn't want to ruin the perfectly happy mood of snuggling together in front of the fireplace nor did he wish for Crowley's beautiful eyes to darken at the start of an emotional conversation. Moreover, he wasn't that used to sharing his fears. Basically, that was what kept him back. Yet, although there had been months since Armageddidn't, that same thought was stuck on his mind, bringing back memories he wished he never had in the first place. But who would he share it with, if not Crowley?Crowley had admittedly been closer to almost losing Aziraphale over the years in multiple occasions. Then there was the one time Aziraphale almost lost him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	we'll meet again

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was inspired a great deal by [this post](https://artist-in-space.tumblr.com/post/186932376117/i-love-this-totally-in-character-because) and the lovely art by my fave [lonicera-caprifolium](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/). Τhis is the first fic I post here and actually the longest fic I've written for Good Omens so far so I'd really appreciate a comment or kudos if you reach the end! :)

We'll meet again  
Don't know where  
Don't know when  
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

The small cottage was getting darker as the sun went down but warmth never failed to fill every one of its corners. A flickering fire was burning in the fireplace for the last two hours and it didn't seem to be put out any time soon. An elegant lamp, brought straight from the bookshop, was brightening the room with a soft light that blended with that of the fire.

Aziraphale entered the living room with slow, careful steps so as not to spill the hot cocoa that steamed from the cups and approached the lump of fuzzy, tartan blankets curled up in the corner of the couch, to the side closer to the fireplace. A tender smile was spread on his face and he put the one cup on the small table before he touched gently the lump which moved under his touch. A faint moan was heard, probably a yawn and a dishevelled red head popped out of the bundle, two yellow eyes looking at him sleepily.  
  
"I made cocoa," he whispered and the blankets were raised so he could snuggle under them too. After he had settled comfortably and pulled the demon in a warm hug he handed over the first cup, curling his fingers around his own, smiling with pleasure.  
  
“ ‘Ss nicce..." Crowley hissed softly and looked up at the angel. Aziraphale caressed his hair. He'd let it grow long again and now the crimson curls were falling on his shoulders.  
  
"I'm glad you like it, my dear," he mumbled, kissing his head and staring at him for a long minute. Crowley, feeling Aziraphale's eyes nailing him with their gaze, raised his eyebrows in question. Of course, they could gaze at each other as long as cocoa would not get cold. However, this was not the case at the moment.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hmm?" Aziraphale responded absently either because he didn't get the question or he was too focused on moving Crowley's hair away from his eyes. Crowley went with the first assumption and made his previous question clear with a sort smile, leaning into the angel's silky hand.  
  
"What's in your mind?"  
  
Aziraphale thought about it for a moment, eyebrows raised, and then pursed his lips.  
  
"I don't think I would ever stand losing you, you know." His words came out in a single breath as if he was scared to utter them in the first place. Well, he was, as a matter of fact. He didn't want to ruin the perfectly happy mood of snuggling together in front of the fireplace nor did he wish for Crowley's beautiful eyes to darken at the start of an emotional conversation. Moreover, he wasn't that used to sharing his fears. Basically, that was what kept him back. Yet, although there had been months since Armageddidn't, that same thought was stuck on his mind, bringing back memories he wished he never had in the first place. But who would he share it with, if not Crowley?  
  
Crowley, however, didn't seem to immediately get that touched by the angel's confession. He had just woken up, after all.  
  
"You wouldn't ever lose me, angel," he laughed silently but he realized his joyful response was not requited; he raised his eyebrow in question. Aziraphale peered at him for some seconds with a disapproving yet loving look and shook his head.  
  
"I almost did once, dear, and I'm quite sure you remember it as clearly as I do. And let's not talk about the second time."  
  
Crowley stayed still staring at him for a bit and then his lips parted, but no sound came out. Of course, he remembered the first time as clearly as he remembered Aziraphale's discorporation. He’d felt a fair amount of frustration in both cases so the comparison had the main ground. He snorted though and nodded negatively. He really didn't want to remember either of those cases.  
  
"It was my job back then, angel." He tried to brush off the oncoming conversation but he knew he'd chosen his words rather unwisely the moment Aziraphale smiled a sarcastic smile, something quite rare for him, and shook his head.  
  
"No, my dear. No, it was not."

__ __ __

**March 15, 1943**

Crowley was walking hurriedly in the field, jumping between the muddy ponds the last day's rain had created, and swearing under his breath. Dammit, winter was over, this weather shouldn't be allowed after February ended. God was probably in a bad mood the past few days, he could tell. Or, more precisely, the past four years. And this war didn't seem to come to an end; it already felt like a century even for him, who carried hundreds of centuries on his shoulders. Millions were already killed, millions of innocent people, so much loss, so much pain and agony, and for what? She was testing them, of course, She always did. He knew. He had been tested once too. But that was a long time ago. Now he felt tired, hopeless, cold, and not in the way a serpent was supposed to be. Sometimes he was even scared though he knew he preferred living in an earthly hell rather than returning to the familiar one and doubting he'll ever come back. He barely remembered to prevent his snake eyes from dilating. And yet, he was in a better state than everyone else.  
  
His boots sank in the mud once more and he held the yellowish paper sheets tighter in his hands, either because he didn't want them to fall or he had to prevent the urge to tear them apart in the end. Orders, more orders, new orders, retreatments, moving platoons, weapons, documents, and no peace, _no peace at all_. He was there for the kids. Too young, too young to live in this. To foment chaos, that's what they had told him. Easy job. The humans did most of it themselves.  
  
It was not one of the best days, admittedly. He had only had two hours of sleep. And he didn't expect it to get better, not even the slightest.  
  
"Crowley!"  
  
He stopped halfway surprised and turned his head to see a familiar figure coming out of a tent to approach him. He raised his eyebrows pleased.  
  
"Angel," he exclaimed and turned his whole body towards him as he came closer. "Fancy seeing you here."  
  
Aziraphale's brows furrowed, yet his bright smile didn't lose its warmth.  
  
"Fancy?" He shook his head pensively. "Quite tragic, I would describe it."  
  
Crowley's lips formed a small, bitter smile as he nodded vaguely around them.  
  
"Guess you're not wrong. But what brings you here? I thought the bookshop stuff kept you busy."  
  
"Oh, I hope it did." Aziraphale cleaned his hands on his apron and Crowley noticed then for the first time they were stained with blood. "I'm here as a Red Cross medic, you see. A surgeon, to be precise. No discriminations. Doing what has to be done."  
  
His smile had almost faded, but he still kept curved the corners of his lips, painting his words with a sad but decisive tone. Crowley then studied his appearance, having been captivated by the sound of a so-missed voice until that moment. Aziraphale was wearing a proper uniform that was kept clean by his apron which had lost its white colour under the blood covering it. His sleeves were rolled up his elbows, blood also staining his soft, miraculous hands. Crowley then raised his look and met the angel's eyes. They were shining as always. But they were tired. So many years, so much healing. He snorted frustrated, yet he doubted he'd ever felt more love and admiration for him filling his poor heart.  
  
"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale muttered in a low voice and tilted his head as he peered on him and his rather miserable looks. "You're on the battlefield, aren't you?"  
  
Crowley hesitated for a moment, as if he had just realized this himself, and then shook his head a bit, choked noises escaping his throat.  
  
"Yeah, well... I do that too, yes. Mostly saving lives though. In my way."  
  
The angel considered for a moment but then he raised his eyebrows and almost wide-opened his eyes.  
  
"You don't mean..."  
  
"Ngk."  
  
"But Crowley..."  
  
"They're _kids_ , angel!" he barely kept his voice low and then looked around repentantly, almost whispering. "They have their whole lives ahead!"  
  
"That's egoistic." Aziraphale seemed to have put aside some of his objections, but his eyes were scintillating and filled with doubt.  
  
"Not everyone lives forever, Aziraphale." Crowley hissed and came a bit closer to him. "We, at least, have nothing to lose."  
  
He immediately regretted his last words as he noticed Aziraphale's face darkening and the smile previously remaining on his lips disappearing all at once. He sighed tiredly.  
  
"Angel, I didn't mean..."  
  
Aziraphale lowered his look.  
  
"That's what you think, don't you?"  
  
"Wha– _No_! I–I meant living and– and dying, you know, human things!" Crowley was now shifting his weight from one leg to another. Satan below, why was he even _allowed_ to speak. He swallowed. "Listen, angel. It's dangerous here. We see that every day. But for them... There's no coming back."  
  
"How do you know there would be for us?"  
  
The angel's voice was solemn now. Crowley shivered suddenly and parted his lips to speak, but he hesitated. _I don't_ , he wanted to say but he knew it was no right time. So instead he bit his lips and looked around once more, taking some steps backwards.  
  
"I... have to go, angel. Hope I see you again." He turned to leave but Aziraphale's words made him stop.  
  
"Be careful, Crowley." Their eyes met. Aziraphale smiled slightly, lowering his tone. "Please."  
  
Crowley stood for a moment numb, staring at him longingly and then shook his head, averting his burning eyes and fending off him slowly.  
  
"You too," he said without looking back and fastened his walking.

__ __ __

"I hope you know, to that day, that... It took weeks for me to forgive what I said." Crowley's lips were curved in a short smile as he struggled to utter a thousand apologies forming at the back of his throat. He laughed with a snort and shook his head without looking at the angel. "I could lose everything. The _fucking world was ending_ and I already had!"  
  
His voice maybe cracked at the last words and maybe he was the only one to hear it. Or maybe not. Aziraphale, though, smiled lovingly and kissed his head. He didn't attempt to make him turn his head, to face his eyes. Sometimes the eyes invaded the soul and devoured the words before they managed to be uttered. And –sometimes– some things needed to be heard.  
  
"There had been a time I indeed questioned what there was to be lost," his voice was low but he maintained a light tone. Saying what was never said but was always known. "But I think that day I had already made up my mind, my dear."  
  
Crowley turned to face him, his wide-open eyes now bright with relief. Then he chuckled timidly and buried his head in the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale, still with a wide smile spread on his face, stroked his hair. They remained silent. Not for much, just enough for them to take a sip of cocoa that was miraculously still quite hot and for Aziraphale to consider after some minutes that Crowley had fallen asleep again on his shoulder. Yet his voice was heard again, a bit muffled as he raised his head in the slightest, only to be able to glance at the angel with the corner of his eye.  
  
"How did you come back that day?" Aziraphale raised his eyebrow in question, absently staring at the fire sparkling in the fireplace. Crowley swallowed and awkwardly fidgeted the cup in his hands. "You _know_ what day, angel."  
  
Aziraphale turned his head a bit abruptly but he didn't seem confused more than he was startled and Crowley could say he discerned a hint of hesitation darkening his eyes. He rolled his eyes around the room for a moment and then lowered his look, smiling shortly.  
  
"Remember when you said you didn't want to go _down_." It was not a question but a statement, an introduction. Of course, he remembered, although it resembled more to a confession when he had said that, lingering between life and death. But there was a time when he wished Aziraphale didn't. Not anymore, though. So Crowley bit his lips and nodded, not in agreement, but as though admitting saying something that was not supposed to ever be said. He never thought it would matter anyway. Until now. "That one time, I tried with every inch of my being to keep you on earth, because I knew that's what you wanted, that's what both of us wanted," Aziraphale continued and maybe his voice was now a bit shaky. "And when I got discorperated... I realized I didn't want to go _up_ either."  
  
Crowley had now turned his head and was gazing at him, instinctively squeezing his hand under the blanket. And then he thought that his eyes probably sparkled a bit more than they usually did.

__ __ __

**March 29, 1943**

Aziraphale passed by two really young men sitting on the ground covered in blood and entered the hospital hurriedly, voices and groans being already heard outside. Yet he stood for a moment as he entered because it was almost empty except for three or four beds occupied. Most of them he'd seen again. There was only one he peered at for a moment longer behind the medics' backs, one around eighteen; he was probably a new one. But then he realized the voices were coming from none of them and he headed for the bed in the back where another two surgeons were waiting for him, seeming confused at least as they spoke.  
  
"But what about the eyes?"  
  
Aziraphale reached them curious.  
  
"What's it with the eyes?" he asked and his look then flew on the man writhing in shock on the bed, covered in so much blood that only his teary eyes could be recognizable. And Aziraphale knew those eyes as he knew the world and better, so it took him less than a second to lose the earth under his feet.  
  
" _God, Crowley..._ "  
  
He could tell he actually felt his heart shattering in a million pieces as he watched him there, now, shaking in pain, so vulnerable and helpless and, God, _so close to death_. And then he took a moment to hear what he was saying or trying to say, between his rambling screams.  
  
"The kids... Help the kids..."  
  
Aziraphale swallowed. For God's sake. It was the kids. It was them from the start.  
  
"He's been saying that since the moment we found them in the room," the first medic said. "Grenade. The other is in a better condition," he gestured at the bed the angel had previously seen. "But this one is bad. Fragments on his right side. And morphine just doesn't seem to work."  
  
Aziraphale hadn't taken his eyes off Crowley, neither his feet off the ground yet, but when he heard the last words he raised his head abruptly and snorted. Of course, morphine didn't affect him properly, he was a demon. But he knew what he could do about that and probably about the wound too. He wasn't just a surgeon, after all. So he took a deep breath, gathered his composure, forgot his exhaustion, wide opened his eyes for some unnecessary tears to dry and did what he had learned to do all those years. With a quick miracle, he created a good illusion for the demon's eyes and cleaned most of the blood on him while he was still trembling quite violently. Meanwhile, the tall medic was needed for another surgery and the other was busy at the next bed, in case he needed any help in the end.  
  
Crowley seemed unable to get unconscious, still screaming in pain as the angel considered the wound. It was bad indeed and blood just wouldn't stop gushing with every forced breath Crowley took. Aziraphale put his hands on it as gently as he could. That was the easy thing to do all those years and yet, he was fooled and also utterly terrified for some seconds. Because the moment he made to apply the usual healing miracle, Crowley almost jerked up in pain, his voice going hoarse from shouting and Aziraphale breathed shakily, immediately pushing him back by the shoulders. He then swallowed.  
  
"Okay, everything's going to be okay." He didn't know if he said that for himself to hear or for Crowley. He only knew that he would make it okay and he would be damned if he didn't.  
  
He miracled away the fragments that had stayed there too long so that the wound would only need human healing. It shouldn't be that hard. Miracles were for demons just like hellfire for angels. He then cleaned his hands from the blood and gently rested his right one on the demon's head, holding his trembling hand tightly in the other. He should have done that from the start, he thought, but damn if he was sober enough to think properly. The screaming subsided eventually and he could say part of the pain did too. The tears though were still flowing in rivers down his face.  
  
"Everything is fine, Crowley," he said softly as he saw him regaining a bit of touch with reality. "I'm here, _dearest_."  
  
He paused as his tongue slipped, yet it was too late to take it back now. Then he realized that he wouldn't take it back, even if he could. Because Crowley half-opened his golden eyes gasping for breath and, after he took a look around the room, his eyes remained fixed on Aziraphale, a weak smile immediately curving the corners of his lips that made his heart flutter.  
  
"Angel..." His voice was hardly heard, weak and hoarse from the screaming, but it didn't stop Aziraphale from smiling brightly and maybe not minding the tears returning to his eyes. He removed the red hair that was stuck on his sweaty forehead and gently caressed his bruised cheek with his thumb.  
  
"Hello, my dear." His voice was a bit thickened with emotion but he didn't seem to care. Crowley swallowed, feeling the taste of blood going down his throat and frowned for a moment like he tried to remember something. Then his eyes suddenly widened and a gasp escaped his lips as he made to jolt up alarmed. Yet Aziraphale instinctively put his arm around his body to hold him down and he fell back on the bed with a pained cry, blood flowing down his lips. He glanced around desperately.  
  
"Where are the kids, Aziraphale?" His voice was shaking, breathless. " _You have to help the kids first_."  
  
"Shhh." Aziraphale squeezed his hand, still feeling its uncontrollable quiver, and glimpsed over the next bed where he had seen the other soldier previously. He'd lie if he said that he was perfectly fine, he wouldn't be here if he was after all. But that had never been a problem for him. So he smiled and softly cleaned the blood on Crowley's face with a wet cloth. "The kids are fine, Crowley. You have to rest now."  
  
Crowley heaved a relieved sigh and let his head fall back wincing, his barely opened eyes gazing at the angel in exhaustion.  
  
"Fuck," he muttered faintly and attempted to look at his bleeding wound with a groan. "It hurts."  
  
His voice trembled with the last words as he was slowly dropping into unconsciousness. Aziraphale quickly wiped a tear that dared to fall from his eyes and nodded compassionately.  
  
"I know, my dear." He stubbornly held his hand from shaking and carefully poured some sulfanilamide powder on the wound. Crowley might be a demon but he had to take proper care of him beforehand. "But I promise you everything will be alright."  
  
Crowley took a shaky breath and, maybe on instinct, he tightened his fingers around Aziraphale's hand. He then closed his eyes almost drifting off.  
  
"Angel," he whispered in a broken voice just before his mind went blank and Aziraphale raised his look to meet two barely visible split eyes staring at him. "I don't wanna go _down there_."  
  
The angel pursed his lips and shook his head, his thumb running faintly over the other's wrist.  
  
"As long as I concern, you won't."  
  
But Crowley probably didn't hear him, having already slipped unconscious, finally letting go of the pain torturing his earthly body. Maybe it was better this way.  
  
Aziraphale stopped moving for some seconds, bandages in hand and gazed at him. He then sighed deeply more as a reminder to himself to remain steady than to inhale the oxygen he didn't even need. He rested his hand on Crowley's forehead once again and smiled with a bittersweet hint on his lips. He couldn't heal him without torment but he could, at least, give him sweet dreams. They didn't get that every day on the battlefield anyway.  
  
He stepped out of the hospital an hour later, after he had taken care of the demon's wound and the soldier next bed. His hands were aching and maybe it was the first time he actually noticed that his whole body did too. The weak rays of the sun made him squint and he realized there hadn't been any sun for the past few weeks or either, they were not able to see it, blinded by the gunpowder and the sorrow they were faced with every passing day. He then turned his head to see the two young soldiers he had found earlier still sitting near the hospital as if waiting for something. God, Crowley was right. They were kids. Nineteen-year-olds at the most. They saluted him and he smiled as if he knew what they were waiting for. His mind went back to the Flood. Crowley had a way with kids, indeed.

__ __ __

**March 31, 1943**

Light music was playing from a radio somewhere in the room as Aziraphale entered the post-operatic section of the aid station which seemed less crowded than usual. The few soldiers left there were silent, while some others with more serious injuries had been transferred just the day before along with a couple or two of medics. And, miraculously so, Aziraphale was given a break a bit earlier than usual. There were a good number of soldiers he had healed that day, anyway. So he walked between the beds with light steps, spotting, at last, a red-haired head resting on a pillow. Crowley was sleeping for the past two days, or, more precisely, he was in a periodic lethargy, which subsided between the hours, having almost no touch with reality. He'd asked twice about him, yet the answer was always the same. He knew he couldn't wait one more day without knowing he's alright. Well, he shouldn't care much, considering his side. But he was the one who healed him after all, wasn't he? And war didn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints.  
  
He sat on a chair beside the bed and stayed gazing at him for a long minute. He seemed to sleep peacefully now and even if he didn't, it couldn't be worse than what he saw every day there. His chest was moving up and down in unnecessary breaths that came naturally to him after all those years. A few scratches were marking his face and the angel carefully lifted the blanket to glance at his wound. It was in good condition and way better than he'd left it. Human healing had definitely evolved. Yet, he could tell that his resting miracle had lasted a little too longer than he had intended. Maybe it was better this way, God knew how much pain he would have gone through if he'd coped with the injury only on human medicine. But he had really missed his voice. Not that much the past few days, at least no more than usual. He had mostly missed it those first moments when he considered never hearing it again. And God, he had told him to be careful.  
  
His fingers hesitantly touched Crowley's hand and he felt it cold, in contrast with his constantly warm ones. He gently removed the soft hair falling on his forehead and put his hand there with a small smile that appeared without him noticing. Crowley moved his head slightly and his body shivered, a silent moan escaping from his lips. Then his eyelids flickered timidly and he half-opened his eyes to meet Aziraphale's, who slowly pulled his hand away from his head, looking at him rather pleased. Yet, he had just woken up after being mostly unconscious for two days and he seemed to have difficulty in coming to terms with his soundness.  
  
"For Heaven's sake," he whispered breathless, feeling his wound sting after two days and, glancing around, he finally fixed his eyes on Aziraphale as if he was referring to him exclusively. " _I'm alive_."  
  
The angel barely contained a laugh that would have been heard way happier than it was supposed to and shook his head.  
  
"You wouldn't ever be dead, my dear," he answered with a smile one would describe fond, especially if he saw the way his eyes sparkled with love. Aziraphale, of course, wouldn't dare to deeply admit all these at any moment then. However, Crowley didn't seem to be reassured by his words as he cleared his throat and let out a sharp chuckle.  
  
"Bet you're gonna laugh but..." He stared at the angel anxiously as he saw him frowning slightly. "I thought that I would."  
  
Aziraphale didn't answer as no sound came out of his moving lips and they stayed looking at each other for some seconds. Then Crowley scoffed faintly and made to avert his look but Aziraphale's grip tightening on his hand stopped him, his eyes meeting the angel's.  
  
"I..." Aziraphale hesitated for a moment as he felt his voice going thick and swallowed. His smile became bitter. "I dare say I did too, Crowley."  
  
Crowley bit his lips for a moment and then nodded, feeling a weight pressing down his heart. Then his look flew on their hands still touching and he knew Aziraphale did the same because he noticed a red shade wildly painting his cheeks. He felt his body heating up and the angel made to awkwardly withdraw his hand but his own reached for it instantly with a silent _no_ , their fingers entwining together. His eyes met Aziraphale's, who looked almost terrified at first. Then his expression relaxed and he slightly pursed his lips with a timid smile. The demon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, letting the warmth of the angel's hand overwhelm his body.  
  
"Angel, I..." He started but then paused as if his mouth was unable to form the right words. He snorted, feeling the pain of his wound getting stronger for a moment and turned at Aziraphale again, who was gazing at him expectantly. He breathed shakily and smiled a faint smile. " _Thank you_."  
  
He had to thank him, of course he had. He wasn't supposed to save him in any way. And Aziraphale knew that too. So he said nothing, he just nodded and they both knew what it meant. For this was not about a simple rescue from the Bastille, which they both acknowledged was not at all accidental. This was about them seeing each other again, about them behaving and feeling just the way the humans did, just the way a human would do if they saw their loved one suffering. This was not about what they were supposed to do and it never had been, to be entirely precise. This was and had always been about what they chose to do. Because no matter how many times they had been apart, in the end, the choice had always been the same. Coming together.  
  
The radio was still playing softly.

Keep smiling through  
Just like you always do  
'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

"That's a nice song," Crowley said after a couple of minutes, his voice now lower and a bit hoarse. His wound hurt a little bit more now, however much he wished it didn't. Ηe tilted his head to the right so he could look straight at the angel, a weak smile curving his lips.  
  
"It is, indeed." Aziraphale shook his head in agreement and heaved a sigh, feeling his hand going limp inside Crowley's. "I would like to go for a dance someday when everything is over," he raised his eyebrows pensively, looking around. "I guess I won't be the only one."  
  
Crowley gazed at him for some seconds, eyelids getting heavy, and barely resisted the urge to caress his hand with his thumb.  
  
"Mind if I join you?" He raised his eyebrow questioning although he already knew the answer. Aziraphale then smiled brightly as if he was waiting for those exact words, his heart fluttering with delight.  
  
"That would be _lovely_ , my dear!"  
  
Crowley grinned. He had missed the way the angel's face lit up in moments like this, he had missed his enthusiasm, his filled with warmth my dear that slipped anytime into his words. He would miss them again soon.  
  
"Right," he muttered somewhat abruptly, yet a pleased expression was painted on his face. "When everything is over."  
  
He then closed his eyes with a tired hum and squeezed Aziraphale's hand one last time. Aziraphale sat there for some minutes he didn't count, staring at the sleeping demon without taking his hand away. His fingers softly ran through the red hair, trembling slightly in fear of waking him up. He had sweet dreams, after all, Aziraphale was the only one who could tell for certain. He had taken care of it. So he stayed there, his heart beating faster than usual, the war suddenly feeling longer than it actually was, longer than he should normally perceive it, considering the millennia he'd been through. And probably he understood what humans said about cherishing every moment because it's not coming back. They were right. However, he really wished there was another moment when he would hold Crowley's hand under better circumstances preferably. When they would dance, after everything was over, because everything came to an end some time, even the earth would come to an end some time. And then they would have to let go. But that was another matter he preferred not to think about at the moment.  
  
A medic came to change the bandages and he had to return to work. He slowly let go of the hand and glanced at him once more before he left. The radio was still playing.

__ __ __

Crowley's eyes were fixed on Aziraphale for more than five minutes now, yet no one dared to say a word. That same thought was wandering in their minds and didn't seem to go away. They didn't know if they wanted it to go. Aziraphale was staring at the fireplace, feeling the angst of that day which he had been recalling again and again for the past minutes burning stronger than the fire. Crowley noticed the cocoa in the angel's cup slightly trembling and bit his lips. Then his hand slowly came out of the blankets and reached for Aziraphale's with a touch of hesitant reassumption. Aziraphale turned at him a bit abruptly, as if he had woken him from some kind of dream and then lowered his look, realizing his hands were shaking enough for the cocoa to twirl dangerously inside the cup. He snorted and raised his head again, now looking the demon in the eyes with an anxious, maybe apologetic look. Crowley smiled a short smile that disappeared the moment it was finished. Then his lips parted.  
  
"Did you mean it, angel?" His voice was a bit hoarse and thick with emotion yet he didn't seem to mind. His skin shivered in the memory. Aziraphale's eyebrows furrowed pensively.  
  
"Mean what?"  
  
Crowley heaved a sigh so deep his respiratory system probably stopped functioning for a couple of seconds. He didn't notice anyway. He shook his head and shifted his gaze between the angel and their hands.  
  
" _Dearest_. That's what you called me that day. Did you mean it then?" His last words trembled slightly as they were devouring each other with their eyes and Aziraphale remained silent for a moment, then he let a small, broken laugh escape his lips. Oh, God, he remembered. They both did. And now he was happier than ever that concern took over every single fear he had until then and led him to say the truest thing he'd ever said to Crowley to that day. He shook his head.  
  
"That day, dearest. _That day_ I meant it more than any other day."  
  
Crowley's eyes sparkled as a wild blush painted his cheeks and one could say it also reached his ears. He took a sip of the cocoa he had just miracled in their cups, though only to hide his fluster behind it. Aziraphale smiled lovingly and averted his look. Crowley was soft, he'd always known, but he had trouble admitting it sometimes. He was far better at showing it with gentle acts and kind smiles that warmed the angel’s heart even more and wrapped it even more tightly around his presence alone. He felt something choking his throat and some tears he’d rather hide gathered in his eyes. He could miracle them away if he wanted. Yet he wasn't sure if he should. He swallowed, just for his throat to clear a bit and chuckled with a small wiggle of the ones he usually did.  
  
"We didn't meet again after that."  
  
It sounded like a harsh statement that put the responsibility on them both and as much as he didn't want to express it that way, that's what had happened. Crowley knew it too. But as their eyes met, they both understood that it wouldn't have been any different from their encounter in the '60s. Crowley would still go too fast. And Aziraphale would still not be ready.  
  
"Yeah, it... It never occurred..." _Luck_. Crowley attributed it to luck. As though it was because of luck that all those encounters had happened during all the millennia they'd been walking on earth. God, how could he ever lie to Aziraphale? He moved uncomfortably, still in the angel's hug. "Did you... Did you get that dance?"  
  
Aziraphale then laughed shortly. He didn't have to ask that, he already knew the answer. Yet some hint of playfulness sparkled in his eyes. The conversation had become heavier than he'd expected.  
  
"No... _It never occurred_ , you know." The angel answered without meaning to sound sarcastic, but it was ridiculous enough an excuse to be ignored. Crowley groaned silently at the smug smile curved on his lips. The bastard. However, Aziraphale didn't insist on the remark for long before a shadow covered his eyes again and he frowned. "I thought..." He hesitated for a moment but as he saw the two golden eyes staring at him expectantly he knew there was no way back now. "It may sound funny... I was afraid you would let go."  
  
Crowley furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and the corners of his lips quivered slightly.  
  
"W-Why?"  
  
"Well," Aziraphale avoided looking at him with an awkward smile. "Everything was settled a couple of years later and I... I searched for you." He recalled huge, bright rooms full of people laughing and dancing and singing. Because the war was over. And he searched, he always searched. He waited. Yet he never saw her anywhere. Only once he had thought he had gotten a glimpse of her, just like he used to spot her back in the '20s. But then she vanished. To that day he still didn't know if he saw her or if he had missed her so much that he was clinging on his memories. He swallowed with a faint shrug of his shoulders. "Everything was over, just like everything that comes to an end. And I didn't have anyone to dance with."  
  
Crowley was quiet for some moments after that, peering at the angel who wouldn't turn to look at him yet, as if he thought that he would hide his bitter expression under a reticent and benevolent smile just like he always did. He did, yes. But never with him.  
  
"Angel..." His voice sounded grave but he didn't get to continue his phrase because Aziraphale looked at him suddenly.  
  
"Would you let go?" The demon stared at him in slight shock, his lips parted as no words came out his mouth except for a silent _what_. Aziraphale bit his lips. He was supposed to be sure, wasn't he? He had always been sure about Crowley. But he was sure about Heaven too. And he wouldn't say it turned out pretty well for him. So he sighed and tilted his head, an apologetic look darkening his face. _I know you wouldn't, I know it with my whole heart. Just reassure me one more time_. "If everything ended eventually, would you let go?"  
  
Crowley understood. He understood that the angel didn't need to hear a simple _no_ because he already knew that was the answer. He understood that he had spent his whole life relying on a family that was constantly failing him and now that he had found this new one, he just wanted to be sure if he should let his heart rest here. So Crowley smiled a faint, loving smile and raised his hand, slowly running his fingers through the white, cotton curls and finally resting them on the nape of Aziraphale's neck, shaking his head.  
  
"Do you really think I'd stand losing you again?"  
  
And then Aziraphale smiled one of those bright smiles that made his eyes wrinkle in the corners and Crowley felt his heart flooding with joy as he saw him, a relieved expression now resting on his face. So he leaned and pressed their lips together and they kissed and kissed and _kissed_ until they didn't care about hot cocoa getting spilt, and this time was different just like every time they kissed, because now it was soft and reassuring, because now after six millennia of hiding and five months of solace they had comfortably settled in each other's arms, and it didn't feel like regret, nor longing nor redemption. It felt like home.  
  
And then they had to part because they were smiling too hard to go on and Crowley maybe felt his cheek getting slightly wet but he knew he was not the one crying. His thumb moved gently, wiping a single tear off the angel's face as he leaned in his touch and kissed the inside of his wrist. There were more tears, there always were. Crowley knew that. But it was not his time to cry. He peered at Aziraphale pensively for some moments. Then a playful grin was spread on his face and he stood up, putting his and Aziraphale's cup on the table while the angel chuckled, looking at him speechless and eyes wide-open.  
  
"What are you doing, my dear?"  
  
Crowley miracled some proper clothes on him and then glanced at the old gramophone across the room which had probably broken some ages ago, but it didn't matter now because it was playing like new. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows but he didn't manage to utter a word out of his parted lips as Crowley reached for his hand and made him stand up with an honest smile that warmed him way more than the fireplace. And then he remembered the song. Crowley liked that song.  
  
"I promised to join you when everything was over," he said and he nodded, his eyes always fixed on the angel. "Everything is over now. And I still owe you a dance."

__ __ __

**April 14, 1943**

"I thought I might find you here."  
  
Aziraphale turned his head surprised to see Crowley slightly limping towards him, a walking stick in his hand. He raised his eyebrows in worry.  
  
"My dear, Crowley!" He exclaimed and stood up from the chair he was sitting, gesturing at him to take his seat. Crowley shook his head negatively with a faint smile and Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Are you not supposed to be resting?"  
  
"What a coincidence, I would ask the same about you," Crowley said with a bit of a mocking tone and raised his eyebrows. His eyes were covered by the usual dark glasses. And Aziraphale noticed that because he was so used to being able to see his eyes for the past two weeks, being able for once to understand exactly what he was feeling but also knowing how vulnerable he might have felt with nothing separating him from the rest of the world. However, he snorted somewhat impatient at his remarks.  
  
"I'm not the one recovering from a fatal wound, Crowley."  
  
He was not the one, indeed. But he _was_ the one sitting on a chair and reading a book outside a field hospital at seven o'clock in the morning and definitely not sleeping after an around-the-clock of endless, exceptionally hard surgeries. And Crowley, of course, knew that.  
  
"I'm alright, angel," he said with the most reassuring tone he could obtain at the moment and nodded. Aziraphale frowned for some seconds, peering at him thoughtfully. He then sighed in surrender. Crowley smiled slightly in content. "So, no sleep?"  
  
"No, not at all," the angel admitted, awkwardly fidgeting with the book in his hands. He then chuckled, lowering his look. "Actually, I've been doing this for some weeks now... Getting out early..." He muttered hesitantly as if he was not sure he wanted to express what bothered him. But who would he tell that to, if not to Crowley? He swallowed and raised his head, looking him in the eyes. "I've been hoping to see the dawn someday, the sun, just like the old times. It would be a sign of a new beginning, I think..." His voice felt unstable now, words quivering in his throat. "But the sky is always black on the horizon."  
  
He bit his lips expectantly, still not knowing if he had done well. Crowley remained unmoving for a moment, leaning on the stick and gazing at him. He might have also felt his wound aching, but even if he did, he wouldn't admit it. He swallowed and even if he didn’t know if the emptiness he felt the past days could become any worse, he definitely knew that rage was currently dominating over it. It broke his heart, seeing his angel tired and disheartened.  
  
"Well, I..." Aziraphale's eyes sparkled for a moment with hope, but it was not the hope he wanted to see. It was the hope of finding someone who suffered the same way he did. And Crowley felt like he was stabbed. "I did that too before this..." He nodded vaguely downwards though they had already realized what he was talking about. He understood he was not making the situation any better so he shook his head faking a smile. It was the least he could do, after all. "Better days are coming, angel. They always do."  
  
He knew they both thought the same thing the moment those words escaped his mouth. _At what cost?_ That's what they wanted to say. But it was no time for doubt.  
  
"What about you?" Aziraphale tried to change the subject and discerned a light relief in Crowley's expression. "I don't think you are strong enough to walk."  
  
Crowley huffed nervously and looked around him, voice hardening.  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"Oh." Aziraphale stood still for a moment, lips parted as if he wanted to say more but no words were coming out. He let out a small chuckle. "But you... Why? Y-You haven't healed properly yet."  
  
He swallowed. He knew he could not care less about the injury at the moment since Crowley seemed fine. But it felt like a comfort. Knowing he had some kind of intimacy with someone in this cold and sorrowful place, someone who felt like home, although home was far away. Although he wasn't supposed to feel like that. Crowley smiled faintly shaking his head. Oh, he felt that too.  
  
"It's gonna heal soon,’s no big deal after all," he took a deep breath and straightened his body as if preparing himself to actually start walking. Aziraphale tilted his head in concern.  
  
"But where are you going, my dear?" The book in his hands had stopped moving for some time now, his attention all focused on the demon in front of him. Crowley shrugged slightly, incoherent noises forming at the back of his throat before he managed to utter a word.  
  
"I-I haven't decided, yet..." He shifted his weight in light discomfort and cleared his throat. "Maybe I'll find another camp on the way... Or maybe I'll go straight back to London or, well, somewhere far away from all this..." Aziraphale nodded sympathetically. He wasn't in need of empathy, he was a damned demon after all. Yet the words almost flew like a river out of his mouth before he was able to hold them back. "I'm tired. I've seen all the pain and sorrow and agony of the world but now, I'm tired. For fuck's sake, I was so panicked the other day I didn't even manage to stop the grenade! A fucking _grenade_!"  
  
His voice broke in the last words and he didn't know who he was to thank that his eyes were not visible then. He swallowed, knowing he had gone too far. He shouldn't speak about that, he knew he shouldn't. But as he saw the angel sighing, his hand quivering for whether he should touch him or not, he couldn't resist the urge. Who else was he going to tell all those if not to him anyway? He looked around. Soldiers and medics were starting to turn up, nurses came out of the tents. He took a deep breath and turned at the angel again.  
  
"So you're staying?" _You could come with me. We can run away together_. It had always been like that. It had always been the same answer.  
  
"My duty is not over here, I'm afraid," Aziraphale smiled timidly and raised his eyebrows. "You owe me a dance though." _I will always come to you. But please go slow_. His voice sounded somewhat cheerful after that previous conversation. Crowley grinned and took a step forward.  
  
"Until we meet again then, angel," he said sighing and held his head up like he usually did as if he remained composed that way. “I hope there’s sun in the sky when we do.”  
  
And he started walking away with a nod.  
  
"Goodbye, Crowley." Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, making his feet unwilling to obey his mind, telling them to keep walking. " _We'll meet again_."  
  
Crowley shook his head and gazed at him for a second smiling shortly, absorbing the last rays of warmth he was radiating. He then turned away and fended off him. They would meet again. They always did.  
  
After a while he noticed three familiar faces walking at the distance. They saw him too and, as if they knew that was the last time they would ever see him, they raised their hands in salute. The demon tilted his head greeting them too. His heart fluttered. They were kids. He had told them to run away. He had survived a grenade to save them. And they were still here. Humans. Utter fools and yet so, _so_ brave.

__ __ __

We'll meet again  
Don't know where  
Don't know when  
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

They hadn't ever danced properly together, they realized the moment Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's shoulder and the demon put his behind his back and they made to make some rather clumsy first steps. The gramophone was playing in a cheerful tune, yet they hadn't found the right way not to tangle their feet together until the middle of the song. Thankfully, there was plenty of space in the living room for them to move around. They should have danced more in the past they could admit, but they should have also danced more together. Here could come a decent excuse, like the fact that it never occurred. But, you see, it was more than that. Because it could have occurred a thousand times and a thousand times could they have danced. And every time they would look into each other's eyes and see all the love and all the fear of the world since no such love as theirs could exist without that constant fear and doubt pulling them apart. They would look for some seconds and then, as if they saw the one's soul reflected in the other's eyes, they would blush or lower their head or suddenly decide that it was not actually a good idea, that neither of them knew how to dance well. That was the case, in general, but there's a first time for everything. Yet they would still pull apart, and they would still hide everything they saw and thought and felt, and at the same time, they would keep no actual secret because they had already seen everything in the few moments they had touched. And they would still love each other more than anything in the whole universe and they would have absolute consciousness of the vastness of it. And then they would meet again, after a few years or more, could be centuries, but it didn't matter, because they always met in the end.  
  
They had danced a few times, they recalled now. Two or three, no more than that, no matter how much they wanted it. Because it was always the same. And maybe that's why Crowley still owed Aziraphale that dance. Because he didn't want it to be the same again. Because the danger of never getting back together prevailed over the desire of being together. And maybe that's why they could have that dance now. Because everything was over. So now they looked into each other's eyes and they still saw all the love of the world, but there was no fear. There was neither awkward blushing nor lowering of their heads, and they both knew that there's always a first time for everything, even for them, even after all those years. Because Crowley knew how to slow down and Aziraphale knew how to catch up. So they touched and danced and smiled and loved and loved and loved, oh, _so much_ that someone could feel the love that this small cottage could capture inside its walls even if they were not an angel. Because now, after all those years, they didn't dare to pull apart, not because they were afraid of not meeting again, but because they weren't ever going to part again for their roads to unexpectedly cross. On the contrary, now they pulled a little closer since now they didn't fear of losing each other and maybe that's why they refused to let go, because the fact that everything was over had dawned on them so suddenly and gently at the same time, like a feather touching the floor after its long journey of floating in the air. Maybe that's why Aziraphale leaned on Crowley's shoulder slowly and cradled his hands up his back, as some tears flowed down on the black shirt and some sobs shook slightly his shoulders as they kept swaying gently in the middle of the living room even after the song had ended; and Crowley, holding the angel even more tightly, rested his hand on his tilted head and kissed it and fondled his curls with all the tenderness his long, slim fingers drew from the depths of his soul. And they stayed there, hidden in each other's arms, until the sobs ended and everything that was heard was whispers of _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you_ , repeated like a prayer so many times that, in the end, they remained floating with the air, along with the memories of a hospital room, a song on the radio and the times they had met in the past and would meet every day in the future again, and again, and again.


End file.
